Casualties of the Dancefloor
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock loves to dance, but he has never danced with Molly Hooper. Why not? His parents seem to know.


Sherlock Holmes loved to dance. This was well documented. He had told the maid of honor, Janine, at John and Mary's wedding. He had, in fact, asked to dance with virtually every female acquaintance, whisking them around the floor with an amazing grace. He most often avoided social occasions, except when they involved dancing. He had explained to John that, as a musician, he simply viewed dancing as just another way to express his appreciation of a charming rhythm, using his body as his instrument.

He had, of course, danced with his mother. Mummy liked nothing better than to be led around the dancefloor by one of her sons. She had insisted on dance lessons for both of them, and, at each and every family function which involved dancing, she took pride in their talent.

He had often danced with his landlady, Martha Hudson. Mrs. Hudson was extremely light on her feet, having been a professional dancer in her younger years. On the occasions when she danced with her surrogate son, however, she did remain entirely clothed.

He had also danced with the Woman, Irene Adler, but only once, after he had saved her life in Kurachi. Evidently, she had found him an excellent partner, as he soon found himself engaged in a more intimate, horizontal version of the activity. Once was enough, as far as he was concerned, for the dancing, and the other, as well.

He had, of course, danced with Mary Watson. He considered her one of his best friends, and loved the way she fully committed herself on the dancefloor, as she did to everything in her life. What she made had lacked in grace, she more than made up for in energy and determination. He still missed her dearly, but looked forward to the day when her daughter, his goddaughter, Rosie, would be able to accompany him.

He had once even danced with Sally Donovan. In a fit of short-lived remorse after his return from the dead, she had asked him to do so at the pub where their small group of friends had gathered. She proved to be remarkably light on her feet, perhaps due to the lack of any more weighty items, such as a conscience, a sense of morality, compassion, or kindness.

He had danced with John's former, and now, once again current girlfriend, Sara, who had evidently forgiven him for horning in on their first date and almost getting her killed by murderous Chinese acrobats.

But he had never, not once, danced with Molly Hooper. Molly had always considered that this was because of her inherent lack of grace and skill on the dancefloor. She wasn't a total disaster, of course, just not up to the detective's standards. The pathologist grew up in a small village. She had never attended dance classes. She had never gone to charity galas, fancy balls, or cottillions. She had learned to cut a rug coached by her drunken friends at Uni, and often felt ill at ease at posher venues. But this would all come to an end at the annual holiday gala to benefit Children in Need, of which the Holmes family was a significant benefactor.

Mycroft Holmes had procured an entire table at the event, paying dearly for it, but not complaining because of the charitable nature of the program. Being a Holmes, it was expected of him. In fact, the whole family was expected to attend, Sherlock included. The detective did not balk so much, as it afforded him the opportunity of a fine meal and an evening enjoying his favorite pastime, dancing. The table seated ten guests. Siger and Violet Holmes, of course, were there, as was Mycroft and his assistant, Anthea. John Watson had asked his current flame, Sara, to accompany him, and Sherlock was escorting his landlady, and favored dance partner, Martha Hudson. That left two open seats, and Mycroft had gifted them to Inspector Gregory Lestrade, who had yet to put in an appearance.

When the Scotland Yard inspector did appear, he was accompanied by Dr. Molly Hooper, dressed to the nines and looking quite beautiful. For once, Molly did not feel uncomfortable at such a posh occasion. She had chosen her dress wisely, her hair and makeup were perfect, and she was among friends. What could go wrong?

Dinner went well. The meal was delicious, perfectly prepared and served. But the place didn't really come alive until the orchestra appeared. SIger and Violet were the first to hit the floor, followed almost immediately by John and Sara. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson soon joined them, then Greg and Molly, leaving only Mycroft and Anthea at the table. Anthea had explained that she had a slight injury to her left foot, making dancing uncomfortable, and Mycroft, ever the gentleman, chose to stay with her at the table.

Greg had proven to be an excellent dancer, and Molly was enjoying herself immensely. She had also danced with Siger Holmes and John Watson. But Sherlock had never asked for the honor, and she had assumed that she was simply not up to his standards as a dance partner. At one point, Mycroft and Sherlock seemed to be involved in a bit of private conversation, smirking a bit as their parents struggled along on the floor. One moment, the older couple were the picture of grace, the next seemed to jump and fidget about to a rhythm all their own. Their sons, evidently, found this quite amusing. Later, as a waltz began to be played, Mycroft rose from his seat to approach her, and leaning over, asked her if she would like to dance. Most of the other couples were already on the floor, leaving only Sherlock and Anthea at the table. Molly eagerly agreed, as she loved to waltz, and the two left the detective to amuse his brother's guest.

Shortly after this, Molly was surprised to see Sherlock and Anthea, injured foot be damned, fluttering about to the strains of the waltz. Mycroft leaned in to ask, "Would you mind?" Then he quickly, yet gracefully, swept them over to his brother, tapped him on the shoulder and asked to cut in.

"Of course, brother mine, but do try not to re-injure the lady's foot, will you?"

Mycroft snorted a replay and lead his assistant away to join the other dancers, leaving Sherlock and Molly standing face to face in the midst of the swirling dancers.

"Well, Sherlock, are you going to dance with me?" Molly said with a self-deprecating smile. She reached out her arms to embrace him, and added, when he didn't immediate reach for her, "Let's not be insulting, huh!"

Sherlock took her in his arms and they joined the swirling masses. Then his foot landed on her big toe, and Molly jumped a bit in surprise. It wasn't long before her other foot was similarly assaulted, but, never one to give up easily, Molly plastered a smile on her face, and continued to follow Sherlock's lead. Until he plowed them right into the Lord Mayor of London and his esteemed wife. This was followed by his barely dodging a duke, edging into an earl, and barreling into a baron. Each collision, or near collision, was accompanied by a trodden toe. By the time the music came to a halt, Molly was limping, Sherlock was flustered, and Mycroft and his parents were giggling like children.

Mrs. Holmes was the first one to speak when they returned to the table. "That was lovely, dear. Did I waste all my money on those expensive dance classes?"

"Oh, Mrs. Holmes, I'm so sorry. I guess I'm just a terrible dancer. Two left feet, and all that. Now you can see why Sherlock never wanted to dance with me…"

"Of course I see, my dear. More than you do, I'll wager. And I don't for one minute believe that it was you doing the foot stomping out there!" Mrs. Homes smiled merrily, and then, surprisingly, winked at her husband, who simply squeezed her hand and kissed her on the cheek. "Siger here broke my pinky toe on our first date! By the third date, dancing again, he had to pay significant damages for a table full of drinks and glassware set out on a table, which he danced us into. As the years have passed, he has improved considerably, but still takes an errant step or two on the floor, as you no doubt noticed when we danced this evening."

Siger Holmes finally spoke. "In my own defense, it's hard to maintain a steady dance rhythm when you're more enraptured by the woman in your arms than the music being played." He then looked over at his elder son, and spoke a bit sharply. "I wouldn't be smirking all that much, Mykie, as I suspect the nature of Anthea's foot injury is much the same!"

Mycroft immediately grew silent, and more than a bit red in the face, but Anthea patted his hand sympathetically. "We're working on it, Mr. Holmes."

Siger now looked at the younger of his "boys". "The question now, Will, is what do you intend to do about it?"

Sherlock Holmes then took a good, stiff swig of the excellent Scotch sitting on the table in front of him, measuring his words before answering, but knowing that he had been painted into a corner. A corner he had no real desire to escape, but he still couldn't resist taking someone down with him. And what better choice than his big brother. "Well, I think the only viable choice is to plan a double wedding, don't you agree, Mycroft?"

"Why on earth do you suggest a double wedding, brother?"

"Because, at the reception, I could dance with your bride, while you danced with mine. I think this may be the only way the poor women can avoid serious injury."

"Don't you think friends and family would consider that a bit eccentric, Sherlock. Exchanging brides on our wedding day may be…"

"Eccentric? Perhaps. But the Holmes family has seen worse. Aunt Honoria left all her money to her cat, who turned out to be an unrepentant spendthrift. Uncle Bertram, as you will recall, married a horse, then tries to divorce it when her foal didn't look like him."

Sifer Holmes then interjected, "To be fair, there was a strong resemblance if you looked at the animal from the hind side."

Sherlock ignored the reference to his uncle being a horse's ass, and continued. "And,, need I remind you, we have a murderously psychotic sister…"

"Who we will not be inviting to the wedding!" Mycroft said rather vehemently.

"Then you agree this is the best solution?"

"Given the fact that is virtually impossible to find steel toed dancing pumps, I suppose so." He looked, however, a bit doubtful. "Unless the ladies could agree to wear steel toed work boots under their gowns…"

"NO!" Mrs. Holmes bellowed when both women seemed to be weighing the possibility of such footwear. She then added, with a devilish smile, "Although, as I recall, Uncle Bertram's bride did wear iron shoes…" She then reached for her mobile.

"Mummy, do be quiet. And drop the mobile. There will no no announcement, or planning, at least until the prospective brides gree to the situation. Molly is a physician, after all, and well equipped to deal with a few broken toes. She may be more afraid I'll break her heart." And she, and Anthea, are both highly intelligent women. Given this fact, they may decide not to dive into a gene pool containing wealthy cats and equine cousins."

"I love cats, Sherlock. Especially rich ones…" Molly said with a smile.

"And I'm rather fond of horses, as long as I don't have to dance with one at the wedding." Anthea chimed in. "Although, strictly speaking, it couldn't be any more dangerous than dancing with Mycroft." To which her disgruntled new fiance responded, "At least my shoes are made of the finest leather, my love, not hammered iron!" Anthea warmed all over to the first public use of the endearment.

"That's settled, then," Sherlock concluded. Then turned to the police inspector. "Lestrade, it would appear that your date is now my fiance. Would you be so kind as to exchange escorts, and see Mrs. Hudson safely home? I find that I want to dance a bit more with my pathologist. In private." As he said this, he gently put his arm around Molly's shoulder, who blushed rather attractively. Whether this was in embarrassment or anticipation could not be ascertained, but Sherlock certainly hoped it was the later.

John Watson had observed this entire scene without uttering a word. He had, however, finished his drink rather quickly, and then moved on to Sara's. He was now working on Greg's, and eyeing Mr. and Mrs. Holmes' refreshments. He hadn't attempted to appropriate either Sherlock's or Mycroft's, as the brothers seemed to need them even more than he did. A trip to the bar was definitely in order. Or perhaps he should simply whisk Sara away to the dancefloor once again. As he took yet another swig of his purloined beverage, he thought better of it. No telling what these people would do if he accidently stepped on her toes, which, given his dancing skills, was hardly unlikely. Triple weddings seemed a bit excessive!


End file.
